


The Truth About Starkhaven

by Tiz



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mage Rights, Starkhaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4558719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiz/pseuds/Tiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What really happened at the Circle of Magi of Starkhaven, and why letting my Hawke going alone anywhere is a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ser Dean

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a part of my mammoth never-to-be-published series about my custom and canon Hawke, Gawain Hawke. It takes place during Act 1.
> 
> As it can be noticed, Gawain had managed to make himself as an associate of Xenon, mostly providing him magical help when the Antiquarian needs it and general factotum services in exchange for a safe setting where he can study magic&the use of Xenon's resources for his studies.

** Chapter 1: Ser Dean **

 

I threw myself on the bench on Varric's suite in the Hanged Man and groaned. It was the 15th of Umbralis, and three months into my freedom. I had never worked harder in my life. The last working in the Bone Pit had left me exhausted. I had never fought dragons before.

Varric chuckled, his hands stained in ink and his grin splitting his face in half.

"So, I have been dying to know: what was going through your mind when you fought that Ogre?"

The image of my Sister being threw on the ground like a broken doll flashed inside my mind. I clenched my eyes and willed them not to leak.

"That whatever would happen, I had to get the others to safety."

Varric snorted. "People talk about nobility and selflessness… usually in the same stories that have magic beans. Somehow, Hawke, I imagine it won't be dull with you around. Not that I expect the Deep Roads to be boring, mind you. Constant threat of doom tends to keep one awake."

It was my turn to snort. "A lot of things can keep you awake. I wouldn't reach for doom first."

He shrugged. "Sure, I could have a cup of tea in the morning, but I heard it is bad for you. I have spent the whole of my life in Kirkwall. Dangerous enough most days, but it can't compare with the Deep Roads. It would be… an adventure, I guess."

"Great. So now we are 'adventures'… Let's talk about something else. Did you made inquires about Harlan for the Blooming Rose?"

He nodded. I had gotten used to look at him upside down. "Yes. He is willing to sell to you for thirty sovereigns now, as a ten percent account on the whole sum you'll have to give him in three years. He seems quite willing to drop the brothel, truth to be told. I think the whole business with blood mages and Templars unsettled him. Ancestors' know, the only thing that scare him is that devil of the Knight-Commander. The question is, do you have enough now for that and to pay for the expedition?" He rapped my forehead with his knuckles for emphasis. I pressed the crown of my head on his thigh in retaliation. He chuckled.

"Not now, but soon. I have an… errand to do. Alone. When I'll be back, I'll have everything. As for now, I'll pay Harlan and take possession of the Blooming Rose. In two weeks I'll have the whole of it." I promised. Varric stopped writing and bit his lips, looking down at me.

"I am not going to ask you what you are going to do. But you could take that offer for the priceling Chantry Brother instead."

I snorted. "No. Just… no. Chantry? That is ugly stuff, right here. No, I am not interested in any more Chantry's business after the whole Petrice's fiasco."

Varric nodded slowly and kept writing. I played with some pebbles with my force magic, exercising the finest points of it. I was tired. Varric's rooms were always pleasant, the click-clack of his loom of secret as soothing as the waves of the ocean for me. I stood silent for a long while.

"I depart tomorrow. I'll be back soon. I have already told Mother and Carver. You tell the others." This earned me a pointed look, but Varric said nothing.

Smiling, I drifted to sleep. It had been too long since I had last flew. My dreams were blessedly free of Blight, and nightmares.

The day after I skipped meeting Anders. I was… not pleased about it, but better to avoid his questions. I went first to the Black Emporium. I looked at the flasks of dragonling, drake and mature dragon blood. I had been drying them following Xenon's instruction after I had bleed the corpses. There were twenty small flasks of dragonling blood, ten of drake and five of mature dragon.

All in all, seven hundred and fifty sovereigns worth… for the right person.

Arlo Bach was the right person.

I brought three flask, one of each kind, to show to the Antiquarian. They were filled with a dark red, dusty power that thrummed under my finger as if it remembered the dragons' heartbeat. Xenon nodded, satisfied, and tried to smile though the effect was somewhat hampered by his lack of lips. He had charred, blackened stumps instead. Not nearly as appealing.

" **Ah, yes. A job… well done. You'll find my contact… in Starkhaven. Arlo Bach shall help you. And make sure that that shipments will reach Dairsmuid and Gwaren… In this order.** "

I nodded again. "I shall. Arlo Bach is at the "Dangerous Thing Inn", correct?"

" **Yes. You should try their egg and fish pie. It is… quite delicious.** "

I snickered. "I shall. I'll bring you your share as soon as I fly back."

I started to pack the flasks. They were made of steel, and inlaid with a thin veil of gold. They would come back with me. Even if they were all small, balancing all of them in a backpack wasn't easy, and I had to leave much behind. "I'll bring you your third of the profit as soon as I walk back in Kirkwall." I promised to Xenon.

He made a sound. it was likely a snort.

Perhaps. Could have been a sneeze.

" **I know. Fly well**."

 I nodded and walked out of Kirkwall with enough profit to finance ten Deep Roads expeditions on my shoulders. As soon as I was alone and out of the city, I took wings. I went up and up in the cold winter sky, enjoying the feeling of it among my feathers and scanning the ground under me.

Starkhaven is far from Kirkwall if you walk the roads, and the terrain is pleasantly wild and treacherous. But I did not walk the roads. I flew high in the sky, and hunted for lunch and dinner. Only at night I chose a place and swept down, to sleep as a man, for it is dangerous to sleep in a given form. The terrain was plain and then hills, for Starkhaven is a city built among them. They were covered in a deep forest, quite unlike the cold tundra of my youth, but I enjoyed the feeling of the trees' life and of all the smaller lives that depended on it, from the insects and arachnids in the bark to the birds and rodents among the branches and roots.

For three night I slept outside, but the morning of the fourth day I could see Starkhaven, and I flew down in the wilderness. The plan was to change into common clothing, and to walk into the city.

Plans rarely go as planned.

As I watched to find a place to land and changed, I spotted them.

There were two Templars, one a Knight and one a Hunter, fighting a mage. The mage was of the puny Circle sort, and had resorted to blood magic and Tricksters to help. As if. They were fighting in a clearing by a stream, their blood dirtying the pure water. I made a screech of indignation. I swept down and changed among the trees, leaving my backpack among them. In a second, my daggers were in my hand and I swept in the fight, using the School of Awente to give myself the strength of a bear and the swiftness of a snake.

The first to fall to me was the Hunter, who foolishly had taken away his helmet. I cut his throat. As I did so, the blood mage fell to the Knight's sword. Then the Knight turned toward me. I felt Cleanse coalescing and I blinked. I jumped on, faster than any human has the right to be, and embed my daggers in the Templar's heart.

I stood, panting and surveyed around. I turned the Hunter on his face. He was a young man with black hair and green eyes, of around my age and build. I started to divest him.  I had not seen the Templars around Kirkwall with such armors and I was curious to see how it was done. I could always think about tightening reality and Templar's abilities later, and my meeting with Arlo was not before the day after, in any case. Never pass by an occasion to learn more about your enemy. The armor was indeed different, leathers instead of metal, though it had the same gown of all the Templars' armors. I nodded my approval. Once the Hunter was in his smallclothes, I embedded his body in the stone. I should have done the same with the other too, and the mage beside, but I was curious. The armor did look like it would fit me…

I took off my own and hid it with the backpack among the ferns. Then I started putting on the Templars' armor. It felt rather chunky and the gown was a major let down. It was simply uncomfortable. Still, it did hid my legwork and there is much that you can learn from what your opponent is planning from their legwork. I decided it may have some merit. In the belt there were some sovereigns, health potions and two letters. I took them out. One was closed, with a Templar Sigil on sealing wax. The other was open, and from the lines it had been opened and closed several times.

" _Dear Dean,_

_You and lady Crystal have been assigned to Starkhaven. The Circle of Magi in Ferelden is undergoing massive changes after the Blight and Uldred Uprising, and as for now there is simply no place to house you two. And no, your absence from the Tower at the time of the Uprising has not been used against you. Your job on hunting down these apostates had been greatly appreciated, believe me. But someone had to go, and you had been chosen. Do me a favor and obey orders without any creative interpretation for once._

_You will be the first Templars from Kinloch Hold to be assigned to Starkhaven. Do me proud, Ser Dean. Enclosed you'll find the transfer orders for Knight-Commander Jonathon of Starkhaven. They have been told of your arrival, and will be expecting you. Tell him I remember his egg-and-fish pies fondly._

_Ser Graegoir, Knight-Commander of Kinloch Hold_ "

I nodded as I skimmed the letters. A hunter-Templar, with somewhat an independent streak and very good at hunting apostates, then, it would be interesting if -

Prickle-people were approaching.

Several of them. I counted quickly. At least twenty, coming from Starkhaven. Directly toward the places where I was.

I thought fast. I had no time to change clothes and took flight, not without leaving behind two bodies with a third missing. They were expecting two more Templars. It would have raised questions. I abhorred the idea of leaving behind such a sloppy work. There was no time for…

No. There was time for one thing.

I quickly took the Templars' daggers as my own, and put his bow on my shoulders. I embedded my own armor and the backpack in the earth, covering it with stone and dirt. Then I waited till I could hear the heavily armored feet tromping by and walked toward the sound, my daggers out and pretending more exhaustion than what I felt.

As I left the high covering of the trees, I walked into two Templar's instructors, with a score of squires in tow. They all looked at me. I swayed a little for extra effect, my heart thumping fast in exhilaration. This was better than facing a dragon!

"Stop! Who are you?"

I turned toward the one who had spoken. A Knight-Corporal by the armor. A simple man, with few secrets, and none deadly and pale. I saluted as I had often seen other Templars do. It was quite easy.

"Ser… Dean, from Kinloch Hold. Lady Crystal and I have been attacked by a Blood Mage." Collective gasps from the youngling. The two full Templars exchanged a glance. My armor was filthy with blood, though most was from the original ser Dean.

"I am glad to report… that the apostate is dead. But Lady Crystal…" I let my voice die and lowered my eyes.

The Knight-Corporal, a tall, gangly man, sprinted on. "Lead us on, Ser Dean. We shall retrieve Lady Crystal. Ser Lorian, remain with the Squires." I nodded and did a show of straightening my shoulder.

"Yes ser." I was rather proud to have intoned it along with Ser Lorian.

Without a word, I brought the Knight-Corporal at the scene of the fight. He looked down and shook his head. "Another one of ours fallen to the Maleficars. But at least she fulfilled her duty."

I nodded, looking down. I helped making a stretcher for Lady Crystal, but the apostate was left to rot there. I glanced at him. A young girl, perhaps in her twenty. I shook my head a little.

I made a great show of tiredness, and nobody spoke to me until the stretcher was ready and carried by four strapping young squires toward Starkhaven.

The Knight-Corporal turned toward me with a kind spark in his brown eyes.

"We will go directly toward the Circle. Today exercises have been suspended. I'll speak to Knight-Commander Jonathon about the… unfortunate incident. But allow me to give your welcome to Starkhaven and to the Cave, Ser Dean."

I nodded and feigned a tired smile. "Thank you, ser. I appreciate it."

The squires looked at me with respectful glances, and the other Templar surreptitiously gave me a flask filled with light, sweet wine.

I smiled. Being Ser Dean was going to be interesting.

And I would be spared the money for the inn.

"I see Graegoir was not exaggerating on your abilities regarding maleficar's hunting. They will be useful, believe me, though I think you would have been more fit to go to Kirkwall, perhaps. But it is not on me to question my Order. You are welcome here, Ser Dean. I hope you'll find your place in the Cave. Lady Ilya will show you your room."

I was standing to attention in Knight-Commander Jonathon's room, trying not to be too obvious in my ogling around. Shelves of books and parchment clung on the walls. I longed to read them. The Knight-Commander's desk was under a high window, and the light hit its helmet. I found strange that he didn't take it out, but a Templar doesn't question the Knight-Commander. As for the rest, Knight-Commander Jonathon seemed a rather old man, with that kind of hollow body that comes to previously sturdy men once they are past their prime. He had a score of secrets, and none too pleasant. But he was the Knight-Commander, so who was going to call him on how he had arranged for a mage who vied with him for the grace of another of his charge to be made Tranquil, or how he had sometimes killed mages during their Harrowing for no other reason that he was late for lunch, and the mage was in the Fade too long? Some can afford to ignore their secrets.

Or think they do.

I nodded and saluted.

"Yes ser" This was, I have already found, an appropriate answer to a superior Templar. Always.

The door at my back opened. Prickle-people were everywhere, so one more or less was no particular problem. Though I was getting itchy.

"Ah, Lady Ilya. Bring Ser Dean to his room." She nodded and saluted. She was a dark skinned woman with dark, curly hair and few secrets, none too dark. I followed her without a word. I had already learnt that the Circle of Magi in Starkhaven was called the Cave because it was originally a Cave, as the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall was called the Gallows because it was once a Gallows.

Templars lack imagination.

"It is peculiar, isn't it?" I smiled at Ilya and nodded.

"Kinloch Hold is inside a lake. This is… different."

She laughed, walking in the magic-lit hallways. "I bet it is. It didn't used to be the Circle of Magi residence in Starkhaven, you know? We had another up until 7:56 Storm. But it was outside the gates, and when the Qunari invaded during the Qunari Wars, the Knight-Commander of the time decided to abandon it to retreat into the city. The Order was given those caves into the cliff, but to be honest with all the surrounding population having took refuge in Starkhaven there wasn't a lot of possibilities. They were just caves then. But by the time the Qunari Wars ended we had made the Cave so cozy that we saw no reason to leave the place. So we stayed."

I looked around as she spoke. The room of the Knight-Commander had been built as to stuck out of the surface of a cliff overlooking the Minanter River and as such had a lot of sunlight. Sunlight, I would learn, was a precious commodity in the Cave. I was somehow skeptical of the idea that the Cave was "so cozy". For the Templars, perhaps. But most of the mages looked as pasty as underground lizards. Ilya led me to the Templars' room, on a lower level, but they too carved inside the cliff, and each room had a window and a latch. I smiled at that. I could fly in and out as I wished.

I smiled tiredly at Ilya. "Thank you. I… Do you know when it is going to be the funeral of Lady Crystal?"

She looked at me, and a shadow of pity passed in her eyes. "I think it will be in the evening. Do you wish to participate?"

I nodded. "Yes. We… I had never met her before, but we traveled together and… she died bravely." I was getting good at this whole almost-lying business.

She nodded. "I'll ask the Chantry Sister and I'll be back at you. Make yourself at home, you won't start your duties for a couple of days."

I did not plan to stay here so long, so I nodded.

"Thank you."

She smiled and left. I put the backpack down and looked into it. Clothes, the kind I had seen Templars wear off-duty, and some other necessities. A copy of the Chant of Light, well-worn. I nodded. Good. I changed into one of the set of clothes. It was rather baggy but I could always claim I had lost some weight. Then I cleaned the armor.  While I did, I looked at the window and pondered my current situation.

I couldn't pretend to be a Templar for long. For one, I knew next to nothing of Andrastianism. If somebody asked me to recite any line of the Chant of Light, which any Templar knows backward, I would be discovered. But I didn't know more of the Order than what I had gleamed spying them. I did not know their habits and use. Laundry, for example. Did I had to do it, give it to some squire, was it there a place to leave things? I could turn into a hawk and fly away, but somehow I disliked the idea.

I could learn. I could learn much about Templars living among them. And you never know enough about your enemy.

I finished cleaning the armor and put it on a mannequin. Well, I couldn't do much on the habits part, but I could mend my knowledge on the Chant of Light.

I read the stuff for several hours. Aveline had defined it as "lovely". Some parts of it were lovely indeed, but others were bloodthirsty and others still factually wrong. Practically everything about Tricksters and Others, for example, was incorrect. How could somebody believe these things, I didn't understand. The Qun made a lot more sense to me.

Ilya caught me reading. She smiled as she saw me lying on the bed, Dean's copy of the Chant on my knees.

"Sister Donata says you can come, but you can't speak. They had already decided who will say the benedictions, and there are strict orders."

It suited me just fine. I nodded and put the book away with care, as if it was a prized possession. "It is fine. As I said… I didn't know her very well. But I feel I should honor her sacrifice."

She nodded. "It is understandable. Come on, then. We will have the funeral, then go to dinner. You have been given to the second shift of dinner in any case."

The Funeral reminded me of my first time among the Inughuit of the Deep South, the same tense watching of others to be like they were, save that Inughuit didn't make me itch. I copied the Templars I was sitting with, sitting and standing as they did, and I moved my mouth without speaking whilst they chanted. I must have fooled them, indeed, for nobody looked at me very much. I did received several glances, but it was to be expected: I was the new guy after all.

I followed Ilya to the canteen for dinner. All Templars eat together, in long tables, I learnt that evening. Every Templar table has a Knight-Corporal in the lead, which says the prayer over the meal. The Knight-Lieutenants eat with the Knight-Captain, whilst the Knight-Commander eat alone or in the same table. Squires eat before full-fledged Templars. Not all Templars eat in the same moment, but in two shifts, since some Templars have always to be watching mages because otherwise they would, I don't know, be interrupted by Tricksters at dinner and let me tell you there is nothing like a Pride Trickster to make you spit your roast beef.

I was in the second shift, and it was pitch-black by the time I went into the big, underground cave that served as common hall and canteen. The same Knight-Corporal who had interrupted me at the river smiled at me and gestured toward his table. Every table held nine Templars, and there were five of them. One hundred and some Templars, rather likely.

How many mages?

I smiled at the Knight-Corporal and saluted. "Ser"

He chuckled. "None of that, Ser Dean, not off duty. I am Ser Balthazar," A fancy name for a slim guy. "These are Ser Morgan, Samuel and Renato. And there are Lady Cynthia, Irene, Clarissa and Makaila. He is Ser Dean, a Hunter just come from Kinloch Hold. And who had a rather unpleasant meeting with a maleficar."

I smiled at all them, memorizing names and faces. They were a mixed bunch, likely from all over Thedas. They mostly smiled back at me. Secrets coiled around them, shifting from one to the other. Lady Cynthia was pregnant of ser Samuel and was not telling as yet. Makaila had a mage brother who died in his Harrowing and who she hid like a shameful secret. Irene… I shook my head. Prying their secrets would do me no good.

"Hello. I hoped to find myself well here."

They all grinned back. Makaila, (beautiful woman with brown skin and long, black hair) scuttled away to make place on the bench. I sat. There were flat loaves of dry bread to work as plates, and knives, and a goblet for each of us.

"You will. It was about time we had some new Hunters! The Knight-Commander of Kirkwall has gobbled them all, let me tell you." Said the man Balthazar had called Renato (pointed nose, small eyes and a balding head). Ah. Meredith liked Hunters? This was… interesting.

The others nodded in agreement. "Yes. How can we find the maleficars without hunters? Granted, I can fight off a maleficar as well as anybody, but finding them, that is another thing." Try not to use such shining armor, Lady Irene (petite and with strong shoulders. I betted she used a two-handed weapon).

"You'll be likely told to see if some maleficar has used Starkhaven for its own bases." Said Ser Balthazar. "Ser Renato is right. Though Knight-Commander Meredith's dedication to the cause is commendable, she does have a tendency to take most of the Hunters' herself. We also need them, and right now in Starkhaven we have only three. Three Hunters! For the biggest city in the Free Marches and countryside!" Balthazar shook his head sadly. The other Templars on the table nodded their agreement.

The conversation was cut short by the arrival of servants with plates loaded of meat and vegetables. The smell was glorious and my mouth salivated. I waited, though, while the Knight-Corporal lead us in the prayer, moving my lips with the others, head respectfully bowed.

Then we all dove in the food, cutting slab of meats and putting it on the over boiled and fried vegetables. It was very good. I listened as I ate.

"So, how is it with that Tranquil's problem? I saw her at the funeral. Are they still trying to convince her by bringing her to all the services?"

I raised my eyes.  Ser Morgan (tall, broad shouldered, strong but I betted slow, with a mane of blonde hair and brown eyes) was speaking to Ser Balthazar.

The Knight-Corporal shrugged. "Blast me if I know. The Sisters have tried everything to make her see the light, but some people can't be enlightened, I suppose." I remembered her. A tall, thin woman, neither old nor young, with the same wrongness of all Tranquils. They seemed all the same to me, like bread without salt. She had looked at me, but then so had everybody else.

"I didn't know a Tranquil could give problems." I remarked, eyeing what the other did, the way they ate and how they each made sure their companions had wine and water in the goblets before serving themselves. I copied them.

Ser Morgan nodded. "Normally, they don't. But this one was a heretic before she got the brand, and is one now, too." He sighed, slowly. "We tried everything. But no luck. My guess is that the Chantry Mother will decided to have her executed."

I drank a bit. Water, of course. Better to avoid alcohol. I nodded at Ser Morgan. Tranquils were already dead. Dead people walking.

"How many mages are here?" I asked, eyeing around.

"Two hundred and seventeen. One hundred and thirty Enchanters, forty nine apprentices waiting for their Harrowing and fifty eight kids between six and twelve."

I whistled. "That sounds like a lot of kids." Two mages for every Templar, roughly. My already low opinion of Circle Mages sank further.

Lady Clarissa (fit and trim, with short hair and a scar on her forehead), who was chatting about training with ser Samuel (short, almost a dwarf, red hair and a bushy beard), nodded.

"Starkhaven Circle has a history of taking most of the mage children of the Free Marches." She explained. Her voice has a thick accent. Orlais, I decided. "Even some of the ones of Kirkwall come here." I nodded. Counting how the Veil was on Kirkwall, it seemed a wise choice, though I doubted they knew the reason of it.

The dinner was winding down. I waited to see what the others did. When Ser Balthazar had been satisfied we had all eaten enough, he guided us in another blessing. I repeated the previous performance.

As I stood up, I turned toward Makaila.

"Could you call on me for the morning service? I had lost my bearing with living mostly in the wilds for all this time."

She smiled and nodded. "Certainly. Maker be with you, Ser Dean."

"And with you, Lady Makaila."

Nobody asked me to stay with them after dinner. After all, I had had a difficult day and was just arrived. In my room that night I looked at the ceiling, sorting what I had learnt.

I turned my back to the wall and faced the door, closed my eyes and thought I really had to improve in the school of Awente, and train more in my style of fighting.

I fell asleep smiling. And I had no nightmare.

The day after lady Makaila woke me and we went to the service together. It was packed. As I imagined, it was normal for a Templar to attend it. I would later discover that Templars attends one service a day, either in the morning or in the evening, depending on turns. The reason is the same as for eating in shifts: to avoid leaving the mages unsupervised. You never know, they may start adoring the Old Gods all over again.

The Tranquil watched me during the whole service. I knelt and stood and pretended to sing as the others did, but her unwavering gazed unnerved me. I pretended not to notice.

After service we broke our fast. I had no duty as yet, so I said I would leave to go to the city and see Starkhaven. The others nodded.

"Do that, trust me they'll put you through the sieve soon enough." I smiled at ser Samuel and nodded.

"It is why I am here, in any case. Maker be with you."

I walked the Cave. I had not slept well in spite of the lack of nightmares. I had stayed inside my own Inner Bubble, and the Templars around me made me itch and scratch like my bed was alive with bedbug. I would have to leave as soon as possible or risk a rash. The place was oppressive and not unlike one of the mines I had explored with the others with wooden pegs on which lamps, either magical or mundane, hung. Some were decorated and quite beautiful, but I couldn't have thought of a better prison if I had tried. And there was something else. It wasn't the cacophony of screams that was the undercurrent in Kirkwall, the Twins shouting their endless pain to the sky and the Gallows murmuring wretchedly in the background. No. It was something else, something dark and whispering, a contained pain not less ancient than Kirkwall's. I shrugged it off. I had gotten good at it.

I watched the other Templars. They walked in the center of the tunnels, the mages scuttling like mice in the shadows at the edge of them, pitiful creatures with slumped shoulders and lowered eyes who stopped talking as we approached.

I liked the stone around me. It buzzed with magic and sang with lyrium. I was almost sorry to have to leave.

But I had somebody to meet.

As soon as I was away from the Cave, I hid and flew. At first I watched Starkhaven, noting how the river cut it in two, and how the barges went up and down the river itself. The Cave had a private docking, with a wharf for provision, as did many other rich houses. The Cave's wharf had two barges tied to it. I would bet my pinions it was some shadowy business, likely smuggling. It is easy to make the Templars blind if you pour enough lyrium in their eyes. I flew down it, in the cliff and then up again, playing the joy in my freedom. I was neither craven Templar nor puny Circle Mage.

I was Gawain Hawke and I was _free_.

 Then I turned my tail to the city and went toward the patch of forest surrounding it. It didn't take me long to find again the place where I had fought the day before. I flew up high, looking at the ground and river, watching for any movement.

There was nobody.

I flew back and changed. I took my old armor and the backpack with the flask out of the earth and hid my Templar's clothes. Then I walked into Starkhaven.

The city was beautiful indeed, with stately mansion and granite streets. The central square was an impressive space with marble fountains and surrounded by kingly estates. It lacked the sternness, the starkness of Kirkwall. Here, everything was light and clear and beautiful, whilst in Kirkwall even the grandest estate laid in the austere shadows of the Kirkwall Chantry. The secrets too were not as deep as Kirkwall's, nor as dark, but there was enough and more than enough. The city walked in a strange haze, the talk quiet and even the singing fountains seemed subdued. I could feel it like a thrumming on my skin. It made me walk with a liquid grace, all my sense keen. The sky above was overcast and heavy with snow, as if mirroring the city underneath.

Something had happened, not long ago.

I asked for direction and was sent in a less beautiful part of the town, though it had the bonus on Kirkwall that it was not built on ancient slave quarters. The "Dangerous Thing Inn" was in a "poor" quarter, The kind of poverty that is mostly being on the other side of the law, and where rich people who made their richness by less than lawful mean meet to scheme and talk.

A lot like the Hanged Man.

Still, it was a more beautiful place by far, in a crumbling, decadent way. Broken and chipped mosaic underfoot showed a time when it had been a stately mansion. The lacquer on the chair and tables was stained and scraped away, but it still gleamed where it could. The high ceiling were decorated with wrecked, hanging plasters that was once flowers and wreath.

I decided I liked the place.

I spotted the bartender and walked toward her. I nodded my greetings.

"I am here to speak with Arlo Bach. The Antiquarian has sent me."

She looked at me, grey eyes assessing my armor and daggers and both. I smiled, showing my teeth. She did the same. One of hers shined gold.

"Go up. First floor, on the right. The door with the painted peacock is Arlo's."

I nodded my thanks and walked up over crumbling marble steps. The peacock on the door was of coloured glass, and well preserved, the beautiful bird showed as he opened his tail. A show. The man was showing he could keep something fragile and beautiful safe as the peacock in the glass was showing his beauty to the female.

Well well.

I opened the door and walked in.

A man with dark, shining hair who was getting thin on the crop raised his black eyes from a book to me. His shoulders were wider than the whole of my arm from shoulder to the tip of my fingers, and he had a double axe lying behind his chair, ornate and as tall as I was. His face was scarred, as fractured as the mosaic downstairs. A sword had cut half his left ear. A mallet or something of the like had crushed his nose almost back into his skull. A dagger had stabbed his right cheekbone, making the eye milky and blind.

But the black eyes that was left was canny and deep, and his clothes were rich silk and wool, and the room cozy and quiet with a fire in the fireplace, and a tapestry of secrets hung around him. He felt like a dragon, strong and thick.

He reminded me of Varric.

I smiled. " Arlo Bach. I come from the Antiquarian."

He didn't say a word, but he did put the pen back in the inkstand and looked at me.

"Do you bring the goods?" His voice was raspy and rough.

No niceties. Fine enough. I walked in and closed the door behind me with care, which elicited a smile from Arlo's chapped lips. Then I put my backpack on the chair and took out the bottles. Arno's single eyes shone.

"Twenty flasks of dragonlings' blood, fifteen sovereigns each. Ten flask drake blood at twenty each. And five of mature dragon at fifty each. Seven hundred and fifty sovereigns. As were the pacts."

He nodded, his eye looking at the flask with the same rapaciousness as a Templar would look at lyrium.

"As were the pacts." He opened a drawer and took out a small, heavy sack. I opened it. Diamonds and black opals and sapphires. They shone in the light with a myriad of colours. I nodded. I did not count them. Men like Arlo Bach do not cheat.

"The Antiquarian also told me you should remember that the shipments has to reach Dairsmuid and then Gwaren. The rules are the usual."

He shrugged. "I don't go in the holds when I go business with the Antiquarian. Be well."

I nodded and stood up.

"Be well." I told him. Then I went out of his room and closed with care the peacock door. I stood and waited. There were people in three rooms close by. But the forth was empty. I waited some more, then picked the lock and went inside. I went to the windows and took wings, beating them fast to rise above the inn.

I looked down as I did so. Three pairs of thugs were clustered around the building. I would have smiled, had I had lips.

Men like Arlo Bach do not cheat. They kill.

I flew back to the place where I had left Ser Dean's clothes and hid the payment. It was almost midday, and cold, or what passes for cold in the high North. Cold enough to snow, soon. I was still used to far worse, and cared little for a bit of snow. I changed into Ser Dean's clothes and debated what to do. I could leave, but I was loathed to. Why, I couldn't tell. Leaving without a reason would nag at me, make me feel like I had not finished something.

I looked up at the cold winter sky, grey and heavy. Some snowflakes drifted, heralds of much more to come.

I smiled.

I was a Templar Hunter, wasn't I? Time to hunt some blood mages.

And if "Ser Dean" died heroically in the fight, all the better.


	2. Dora

** Chapter 2: Dora **

 

Finding them wasn't hard. In spite of what the Templar's Order fondly think, blood mages are relatively common, and a major city as Starkhaven is likely to have one or two cadres of them.  I walked around, observing keenly people's secrets, until I picked somebody with the right kind of mystery surrounding them. A young woman, deep. Her secrets dripped red in the streets behind her. I followed her unseen.

I was not exactly surprised to see her stopping by a great, kingly mansion. Blood magic is quite useful for a noble, after all. I looked at the heraldry with interest. The symbol on the door was not unlike a lion. I frowned, thinking. Getting inside in the afternoon was unlikely, and yet it was inside that I had need to go. I was clean and well-clad enough that people did not look badly at me, and several smiled at the young Templars whilst they scurried away toward their house. The snow was falling now, hiding the city under a mantle of whiteness.

I lowered my gaze to the ground. My eyes found a sewer's latch.

I smiled. A little while away from Kirkwall and I already forgot the good old habits.

Getting inside the sewer wasn't hard. Getting into the House' basement did require some magic, indeed, to move the stone and earth, but I managed. The cellars were musty and cool, filled with casket of wines and crates of foodstuff. I walked on, stealthily, my hands on my daggers, the stone floor smooth under my boots. No, not here, not in the wine cellars. Where then? I raised my head and sniffed, a faint scent of blood and decaying caught my nostril. The odor was dense, wet, vile, almost shockingly sweet, like the vomit of a drunk; it seemed to coat the skin and settle into clothes. I followed it until it led me to a door left ajar. A steady stream of flies came and went, buzzingly.

I opened it

The smell hit me, deep and sickly and strong. My eyes watered and I gagged twice. I coughed. I willed light in my hand, and magelight illuminated the place.

A skinned wild boar hung from its hind quarter, the flesh a moldy green and maggots like froth around its tusk. A number of birds, ducks and geese and swans, hang from the ceiling, their featherless bodies bloated like grotesque balloons, the fallen beak having left behind a misshaped head.

It was the room to hang the game.

I lifted my eyebrows. I was a hunter. You always leave the game to hang for a while if you can, for it takes away the wild taste. But this was far beyond what I had ever seen. Maggots rained from the carcasses in a steady streams, and new flies buzzed from the open door. I ignored it and walked past the hanging, putrid game, careful not to steps on the squirming maggots on the floor.

Beyond it there was a smaller door. I smiled grimly and set to work with my lockpicks. It wasn't long before I was inside.

Into the lair of a blood mage.

I looked around. The stench of blood was overpowering. An altar with blood-channels was propped into the center of the room. A desk with several kind of gleaming knives and a packet of letters was not far away. The barrels of wines had been removed to make space for books that shimmered with black and red light, like sparkles behind my eyes and thrummed with the power of blood.  The whole place thrummed like a heart, the faint whispers of pain etched in the stone slithered over my legs like seaweed. Glass jars with hearth were set in a bottle rack, some of them still beating in time with the room. I let go of a breath. The blood hadn't had the time to seep deep into the earth and soil: blood magic was young in this place.

But there was no mage.

I frowned. Then I walked toward the desk, careful not to steps on anything that could leave a track. I ignored the blue, gleaming knives, the hooks and flat blades made to crush the sternum and carve out the heart, the lancets to bleed and the irons to brand. I skimmed the letters. Expansive paper, good ink, careful writing. I pursed my lips and read one.

" _Dear Cara,_

_Keep Goran in your clutches. It is imperative he doesn't notice the magic you use on him. I enclose the texts you desired to study for improving your hold on him. Remember to make him lower the taxes toward Ferelden's imports and raise them toward Navarran's steel. The Fereldan's need the money after the Blight, and we need their timber, but Navarran's think they can give us second-rate stuff for a full price. As if."_

_Signed_

_J.H."_

There were others on the same kind, all from "J.H." to Cara. I frowned. Goran and taxes? I looked up, toward the ceiling of the cellars and the mansion. This looked deeper than a simple blood mage. I pocketed the letters. They could be… important.

I quickly left in the same way I had got in and walked out of the sewer, wondering how to kill Ser Dean.

I kept thinking about it even as I went back to the Cave. As soon as I walked inside, I started to feel itchy. I groaned. Too many prickle-people for my taste. I walked onward like I had a place to be in, nodding politely at fellow Templars and glaring at passing mages for good measure. Most scuttled away from me like mice caught by a cat, as pale as winter moons. I snorted.

I made my way back to Ser Dean's room, thinking about asking for the bathhouse. I opened the door. And stood shock-still.

The Tranquil woman was sitting on the bed, her hand folded in her lap and looking at me. The one who had been watching me during the service and the funeral. I tightened my lips and gripped the door's handle. It was strange, to look at her. It was like looking at an illusion, something my eyes saw but my other, much more important, sense screamed she just _wasn't here_.

I closed the door and looked back at her.

"What do you want?" I tried not to be harsh. I failed.

She stared at me. "You are not a Templar."

My heart stopped beating all together. Coldness spread through me, as if I had been plunged into icy water. I fear my face showed my shock. I shuddered.

The Tranquil waited patiently.

"Wh…Why do you say this?" I stammered. Could I kill her and leave? Probably. From the window, I was a hawk after all…

She looked back at me. "Your boots. They aren't Templar's boots." I looked down at my feet. I had the same boots I had in Kirkwall, my own boots. I hadn't changed into them when I tried on Ser Dean's armor.

"And you were off tune during the services. You didn’t act like you knew what you were doing. You moved your lips, but didn't sing the Chant. You did not know the words."

She paused. Her voice was a droning, without inflection, monotone. But she was speaking not above a whisper.

I debated if I should try to negate it, my eyes on my feet and the telltale boots. But she had come to me, not to the Knight-Commander.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, warily, without looking at her. I put my back to the door. I could get out, by the window. She couldn't. She had thin arms and legs, and was as pasty as anybody in the place. I was armed, and she wasn't. I could overpower her easily.

"I want you to help me destroy my phylactery and to get outside the Cave."

Well. The second surprise in less than ten minutes.

"What?"

She kept staring at me. She had black eyes. Black eyes and brown straight hair, with some streaks of grey at the temple. High forehead, small nose. And she felt completely _dead_.

"They will soon sentence me to death. I know. I have no wish to die."

I frowned. "I heard something yesterday. But why would they kill you? You are a Tranquil, you aren't a threat."

"I am. I speak against the Maker. I write against the Maker. He doesn't exist. His existence is improbable and untested. I have been caught. My heresy won't be tolerated. I have reached the logical conclusion they have no right to take my life based on their unfounded assumptions."

I blinked. "You… you don't believe in the Maker?"

"No." Flat. Well…

I made a decision. I left the door and went sitting by her on the bed. She turned a little to stare at me. Her fixed gaze would have been unnerving in somebody who felt more alive, in her, it was just like the dead eyes of a corpse.

"I see. You were speaking about phylacteries. What are these?"

"Mage-tracking devices. With our blood. Even we Tranquil have phylacteries, still. They kept us here. We can't leave. If I flee without one, I would be caught soon."

That… explained quite a lot. I frowned. "Do you know where they are?"

She nodded. "In a deeper cell. I know of it, but it is guarded. Mine is among the others."

I put my back to the stone and thought. I looked down. The river frothed among the cliff, the big, burly barges teetered to the wharf. Arlo's barges. I thought about Martin and Feynriel, about pasty mages and arrogant Templars.

It could work. It just could.

"… I have an idea. How do you think to support yourself?"

"I am a Formiari. I am a crafter of runes and knowledgeable in ancient magic. I am an archivist and I can read seven languages. I will find work."

I turned and forced myself to look at her. A Tranquil.

"I may know somebody who would be… very willing to have your services. You'll be free to write what you want about the Maker. You will be fed, clothed, housed and given access to a library."

She seemed to be thinking. Then she nodded.

"It does sound adequate. How do you think to retrieve my phylactery?"

I smiled. "Well… What is your name?"

"Dora."

"Well, Dora, there is no place to hide a leaf as a forest." I paused. Since we were there… "Do you know of somebody here wishing to be free? Tomorrow evening two barges will depart: one toward Dairsmuid, the other toward Gwaren."

She nodded. "We all know the ones who harbor such thoughts."

"How many? More or less I mean."

She closed her eyes. Two heartbeats later she opened them again.

"Twenty one among the Enchanters. Twenty five apprentices. Enchanter Sarise is responsible of ten children between six and eight. She may come if she can free her charges as well." She paused. "Only the phylacteries of the First Enchanter is sealed elsewhere. I have checked."

I blinked. "Your… precision is commendable."

She nodded, solemnly. "Thank you."

I took out my incriminating boots and put my feet on the bed, tucking my chin between my knees. I thought for a long time, as the light moved along the opposite wall. Dora waited with all the impatience of a statue. But her presence was… soothing. Or, her lack of presence. It was like being alone.

All pieces were falling into places. The barges and Xenon and Arlo and the phylacteries and Dora and I. All of it. I could see it, like a series of dancing circles connecting to each other to make a flower. I passed my tongue of my teeth. It seemed almost too beautiful, too perfect.

It could work. We didn't have much time but… it could work. The Cave was a superb prison, but it was like a mine, and all mines had the same, crucial problem. I knew of it. I did not own a mine for nothing.

The last light had gone when I turned toward her.

"Right. Here is what we will do…"

She listened carefully to me detailing a crazy plan that was mad enough to work.

"Daring. But logical." I nodded.

"So now we just need a map of the Cav…" I had not finished to speak that she took a parchment, neatly folded, out of her pockets. She opened it on the bed.

A map of the Cave. Right. Of course. I studied it. It looked rather like an anthill. The Templar's quarters were all set in the cliff, with windows giving toward the light. The Mages' rooms were in the bowel of the hill but closer to the exit. Good. Several other rooms, to eat and cook and train and storage were littered everywhere. The air flow was carefully penned, for it is essential in deep mines, to avoid pockets of dangerous air. The air went from Starkhaven to the cliff. Good.

"Here are the phylacteries." She pointed to a large room under everything, basically. The closer place that had no likely guard was a storage unit. I nodded slowly.

"You'll have to wait until the middle of the night shifts… We will begin at half past four. Remember to drip enough oil on the beams. Get help from the would-be-free mages if you can. It is imperative the support of the Templar's quarters and mess hall burns well. Then tell the mages who want to be free to run to the wharf doing the less noise they can."

She nodded. "I shall. It is not difficult. The wharf is not well guarded. The river is too dangerous, and the boatpeople don't take in runaway mages."

I smiled. "These will. Or, better, they won't know they are doing it.. Is there any of the mages that can make them sleep through it all?"

She nodded. "Sarine and Barlan both."

"Good. Tell them to go to the wharf and make absolutely sure everybody in the boats is asleep, and to wait for me. Oh and tell them to steal as much food and water they can under the cover of the fire. You must go to the gate, go outside, cover your forehead and met me in front of the Dangerous Thing Inn. Here." I put two sovereigns in her hand. "Take these."

She nodded and closed her palm.

"Good. We have all planned." She paused. "Ser Dean?"

"Yes?"

"You should bathe. You smell like the sewer. The baths are here." She pointed to a place in the map.

I burst out laughing. She didn't. I nodded then. The night was falling, dusk setting over the river. A small-moons night. Perfect.

"Oh, I shall. Right now. See you soon, Dora."

"Likewise, Ser Dean."

I did went to bathe. It wouldn't do otherwise. I also ate in the same group as I had the day after and did small talk with the other, chatting away the meal. As I walked back from the mess hall I saw some groups of mages closer to the support beams. I repressed a smile.

Fast and furious is oftentimes better than careful and considerate, as far as plans go. Go fast enough and you won't fall.

Then I went to the storage and put my hand against the stone. I concentrated. Despite my bluster with Dora, I had never done it before. Not like this. I willed the stone to move. It shifted like putty in my hand. I took another breath and walked in.

I let the stone close behind me. I walked on, in a bubble of stone, willing the stone in front of me to part. The blood magic's soft thrumming was a siren call, the whispers carrying into the stone like sounds in the water. I followed it blindly, like a newborn babe follows the scent of their mother. I do not think that it was a long walk, perhaps five minutes, but in the bowel of the earth, with no light nor sounds nor perception save the phylacteries' magic intoxicating sussurrus, it seemed long indeed.

Then I stumped  and stumbled outside of my small tunnel, and inside the phylacteries' room. I stood still. There was no light, no sounds. And yet I could hear the whispers. Names. Each vial was saying the name of its owner, again and again, endlessly. Some were a whisper and some were a shout. Some were angry and some were resigned. Some spoke as if in pain, but none in joy.

I shuddered. The blood magic of the place coated my skin, sickening sweet.

I called a magelight.

Row after row of glass vials, filled with a dark liquid. More than two hundred of them by far. Names on the etiquettes. I snorted. What for? Each bottle spoke by itself.

But perhaps Templars couldn't hear.

I took the vials, and one by one poured the content in the ground. It was methodical and slow. I didn't want to crush them, for the sound may alert the Templars outside. The ground became muddy with blood. I went on. Only the last one I didn't pour. I wrapped it carefully in cloth and took it with me. I wanted to learn more about this tracking magic.

Then I rubbed the supporting beams of the chamber with oil, carefully, and set them on fire. I waited for it to take, and left by the same way I had come as the dark smoke rose to the ceiling.

I went upside, checking the map often. I took the small dark tunnels that connected storages, silent and quiet in the night, with the main channels crisscrossing the Cave.

I set fire high up in the beams. This had been Dora's ideas. Fire would spreads faster and be noticed slower if it was high up.  The currents took the fire and spread it from beam to beam. It was dangerous and beyond dangerous, for if anybody had spotted me, I would be dead and Dora as well and my plan would have failed. My heart beat slow but strong, my head was clear and sharp. I was smiling and I didn't know why, save that there is nothing like death to make one fell alive.

It was worth the danger.

I set fire ten times, then went back to the place where the tunnel that went to the Templar's rooms diverged from the ones that went to the wharf and posed myself to wait, looking up. There was nobody here. The few Templars who were on duty were patrolling the Mages' quarters to ensure nobody did any dangerous blood magic by candlelight, and the others slept in their rooms. The gates toward Starkhaven were closed and guarded. Who would have thought that somebody would have used normal, not magical fire to set the beams on fire? Who would have thought that the Cave, the places where the Templars had stood against the Qunari, could fall?

But many an impregnable fortress has been fallen from inside.

I did not have to wait for long. I could hear the shouts and the screams and smelled smoke far away. I sprang from the shadow and ran, screaming in the most high-pitched voice I could.

"FIRE! FIRE! THE CAVE IS ON FIRE! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"

I kept screaming and running like a chicken with their head cut off.

Templars stumbled out of their room, smelling the smokes. I zoomed toward the Knight-Lieutenant. "Sir! The fire comes from the gate! If we don't run we will be trapped! I'll tell the Knight-Commander, you just run!" I shouted. The  Knight-Lieutenant, a tall, strong woman with yellow hair and brown eyes, looked at me in confusion. Then she blinked and started running toward the gates.

I almost laughed. There is nothing like being closed in by a fire that will make people panic.

Seeing the Knight-Lieutenant running away, the other Templars ran in panic as well, still in their nightclothes. It was so comical I had to refrain from laughing by biting my cheek.

One last thing before going to the wharf. I ran up, up toward the room of the Knight-Commander.

I had arrived first. I pounded on the door. "SIR! FIRE!" I shouted. The smoke was quickly filling the place. I coughed and was glad, for once, not to be too tall.

The door opened. The Knight-Commander stood in front of me, a tall man with grey hair and half of his face burnt away, his left eyes and cheek nothing more than knotted scar tissue.

Ah. That explained the helmet. Panic burned in his eyes, a terror so deep that it hit me like a hammer.

"Fire?" He croaked.

I nodded. "Sir, yes sir! They are evacuating." I paused. "They need you, sir. I'll save the documents."

He nodded, panting with fear and trembling. It was great and wretched at once, the tall man with the gangly, naked feet and the nightshirt, with hollow shoulders and the fear making him shake. Yet he didn't run as soon as he could, even if he wanted it oh, Maker so badly. He looked at me and nodded.

"Yes… they do. Take the documents in the second to last drawer, and the ones in the strongbox. Here are the keys. Be safe, Ser Dean. The Maker guides you."

He yanked a chain with keys from his neck and gave it to me, then he ran to help the places evacuate. The smoke was already dark and tick. I coughed some more and ran inside and took what he had said to take. I stuffed the documents (three thick volumes from the strongbox, a clicking sack of coins, a seal) from the strongbox and a stack of paper from the drawer. 

I coughed again. The fire had took hold even faster than I thought. The room was starting to become uncomfortably hot. I threw the key inside. They wouldn't find a body, but then again there would be many charred Templars body that could have been Ser Dean. Perhaps they would think I had tried to jump into the river to avoid the flames.

I opened the window and took flight. I flew down. There was little if any sign from the outside of what was going inside, not from the cliff at least, save the thick, black smoke rising from the Templars' quarters and the muffled sounds of shafts collapsing without beams to keep them up.

They would have to find another prison.

There were people in the wharf. I counted them. Fifty eight people, ten of whom children. Dora had been remarkably precise. They had staves and several big parcels of stuff, including caskets likely full of water. Foodstuff, I reckoned. Well, these mages had shown brain in taking so much away from the storages and cold blood in doing it while the place burned. The boats were quietly rocking in the river. I would have smiled had I lips.

The first part of the plan had gone well.

Now the second.

I flew down and changed shape. Several gasps came from the people assorted there. Oh yes, I was still dressed as a Templar. They could see little of me, since none of them had been stupid enough to light a magelight. I nodded. I approved of brain.

A tall, middle-aged woman of refined features looked at me. The children were around here like chicks are around a hen. She has her hand on a child of perhaps seven years' head.

"You are no Templar."

I smiled. "True. And you are Sarine." She nodded. "All right, everybody. That barge goes to Dairsmuid." I pointed to one "And that one goes to Gwaren. Now be very, very careful, because it is an important choice. I have contacts among the Chasind. They need mages… shamans. They are likely, though I still haven't asked, to send somebody to Gwaren to collect you and to train you as one of them. You'll have a rather good life as a Shaman for a tribe. The other goes to a place where mages aren't so feared, there are no barbarian, but I have no contacts here and you shall have to do by yourself. Choose wisely."

Everybody looked around and at each other. The river murmured and, at my shoulders, the Cave burned, emanating heat. It would be days before it cooled enough to allow access to the wharf.

 "Well, I see no harm in learning the Chasind's way and to become their shaman if they'll have me." Said a boy of perhaps fifteen years, walking up toward the Gwaren's ship. Sarine nodded slowly.

"I'll be best for the children, too. You said you had contacts."

I nodded. "I am myself a Chasind's mage, and I know several there."

More gasps. They all tried to look at me, but I doubt they could see much, or much more than I could of them.

"I'll go to Dairsmuid. I and whoever want to come will stay together and make do, somehow." A burly mage had spoken. Other nodded. "We have food, not-Templar. We think enough for all of us for a while. How long?"

I reckoned fast. "Three weeks at most. If they dock and you make sure they are asleep, you can get out in the night." They all nodded, or at least the ones I could see did. I helped them part the provision. It was indeed a lot of food. I whistled when I saw ten whole hams. A woman in her late thirties with black, long hair who was going to Dairsmuid grinned at me.

"I, together with Marla and Sam, helped with the kitchen." She pointed at other two mages. "It wasn't hard to take these once the panic hit, and it was… worth it." She put her hand on her belly and went quiet for a moment. Then she turned to smile to one of man who was carrying the water caskets.

It took more than a hour to part and shift everything. Bless be sleep spell, because the crew didn't even stir in the whole time. In the end, all the children and apprentices went to Gwaren, plus Sarine and one Enchanter name Oswall. The other went to Dairsmuid. I closed them in as I had with Feynriel, though these ship were bigger and there was more space in the hold. They all looked at the crates already here.

"Don't even try to open them. The crew won't come inside, but you'll have to be quiet or use a spell to hide your noise." I cautioned both groups.

I was turning to leave the Gwaren's people when the woman, Sarine, took my hands.

"Thank you. Whoever you are. May the Maker's bless you."

Her hands were warm and dry. They tremble slightly. It shocked me, that touch, for reasons I cannot name. I swallowed and took out the pouch I had found in the Knight-Commander strongbox. It was full of platinum sovereigns, each of which valued then normal ones. At least sixty of them. I took away twenty and left them to her. "Here. They'll probably dock midway, in Alamar, for a night or two. If you have to buy something. Not-mage clothes may help. Between Gwaren and the Korcari is still Templars Country, though the Blight has left few of them."

She smiled and touched my cheek.

"This, too? You are a generous man." I blinked. Was I? "Thank you. Go with the Maker's blessing, stranger. We won't forget you." She whispered, kissing my forehead.

I swallowed.

"And you, Sarine."

After the children were as cozy as possible and closed inside, I help the other group to finish the preparations. They were using their cloaks to make places for themselves among Xenon's smuggled goods and their foodstuff. I smiled at Karston, the burly Enchanter. I gave him the other forty platinum sovereigns. His eyebrows shot up as he counted them.

"They'll probably dock at Bastion for the night. It is in Antiva. Do not get out, but buying normal clothes may help." I said, so that everybody could listen to me.

Karston nodded. "We shall see what to do. We will make through." He paused. The woman with the black hair who worked in the kitchen smiled at me. The man she had looked at before was sitting beside her, an arm around her shoulder.

"We shan't forget you. You'll be in our prayers." She alone said so, but I knew she spoke for all.

"Maker be with you." I said, softly. They all nodded. "And with you." They said back. I left. I heard the crates being shifted as to hide the mages from view, as I had told them to.

I stood alone in the wharf. Dawn was coming. I was tired, but I had no time for it. I took a deep breath, smelling the smoke in the air. Then I turned into a hawk and let the hot hair carry me up and up. I went back to the place where all of it had began… was it only two days ago? I took out the Templar's clothes smelling of smoke, and I used what little mana I had left to bury them into the earth, then I took out my backpack, stuffed the Knight-Commander's document inside and closed my eyes. I swayed. I put my forearm on a tree and pushed my forehead against it. Maker, was I tired! I trembled. I was hot and cold in turn. It had worked. I couldn't believe it.

And yet, under the bone-deep tiredness and fatigue I felt a strange warmth suffusing in me, spreading through my center toward my toes and fingers. I inhaled and exhaled the clean air. I had done it. I had free thirty six of my people.

My people.

I breathed out and smiled and then laughed out loud in the clean forest's night, with the snow still on the ground and not one prickle-person. Yes. My people. The ones who wanted to leave, who would do anything at all for their freedom, the strong ones, the unbroken ones.

They were my own people.

I straightened up and walked toward Starkhaven. The city on the other side of the cliff was in an uproar, as expected. Guards were scurrying about, running toward the Cave, or what was left of it. People were in the street chatting wildly, or in their rooms looking out of the windows. I smiled tightly and made a beeline to the Dangerous Thing Inn.

The first thing I saw was that the Inn was open early, likely to profit of the confusion to give people a place to speak and, not incidentally, to drink.

The second was Dora, hunched in a cloak in a corner. I walked toward her.

"They are gone." I said, softly. She looked up at me and nodded. She had put a ribbon around her hair, a red one that kept them away from her face and covered her forehead both. I nodded, approving. "I have to speak with a person. Stay here." She nodded again and went back at looking at her hands.

I walked toward the bartender who was serving beer and fresh bread to a group of people who were, apparently, debating if it was demons or Qunari who had burnt the Cave. I almost sniggered.

"Is Arlo Bach in?" I asked. She nodded and gestured at the chipped marble stairs to me. I went up. The peacock door was open. Arlo was inside, speaking with somebody, a dwarf that has "Carta" written all over it. They stopped speaking as I appeared and looked at me, the dwarf with suspicious, Arlo with something like respect in his one eye. I smiled tightly. Oh yes, I had avoided your little trap yesterday.

"I need to know if the ships are going to go." I said, immediately. "The Antiquarian will want to know as well."

He made a throaty sound. "I don't give a fuck about the gowns and robes, they can both burn in the Void for all I care. Tell him that the goods will depart today as expected."

I nodded and left, being careful not to make myself a too inviting target. I went to Dora and touched her shoulder. "Come with me."

She took a backpack she had with her and did so, without a word. We walked calmly toward the main dock. I looked around. As expected, there were people working for whom the Cave's burning meant little to nothing. I spotted a boat tied at  wharf, with some well-dressed people waiting close by. I went there.

"Greetings. I need to bring my sister back to Kirkwall." I gestured at Dora. She had changed and was now in a simple dress. The well-dressed woman who was speaking with a younger one, a daughter or maid, gestured toward a man over the boat.

"Talk to Captain Meelo. He may have place."

So I did. The captain was so short and sturdy he could have had dwarf blood. He looked at me and at Dora. "Yes I have a place, somebody retracted their cabin because of something that is happening in the Cave. It is yours for 2 sovereigns, half now and half later. Food and water included, very nice cabin, too, and very good company." For that price, I didn't doubt it.

I nodded and counted them. "That stuff in the Cave is why I want my sister out now instead that next week. Maker's know what is happening inside there." I shuddered.

The Captain's pawns closed over the money. "Yer wiser than the other one. Very well, bring your sister in. What's your name, gentleman?"

"Cedric Theron. That is my sister, Dora Theron. She suffered from seasickness something awful last time, don't know this one."

He shrugged. "It happens to landlubbers. Tell her she is welcome."

I nodded and left. I had almost be seasick just by that.

I smiled to Dora. "You are Dora Theron, I am Cedric Theron, and these are the money you have to give to Captain Meelo once you are in Kirkwall." I gave her a sovereign. "You can't come with me, I travel… in a peculiar way. And by boat is swifter and safer than by land. When you dock at Kirkwall, find the Hanged Man and stay here. The sovereigns I gave you before will buy you a room. I'll find you here. Don't let anybody see the brand."

She nodded, taking the money and putting them away. "I understand. We shall see each other in Kirkwall then."

I nodded.

"Yes. See you soon, Dora."

"You too, Cedric."

I almost chuckled and walked away while Dora embarked. I wondered how she and the two groups of mages hid in the ships would fare. I shrugged. I had done all I could.

I left Starkhaven, walking again calmly out.

I had been in and out of the place a lot more times than I cared to count.

I walked and walked, eating some travel ration. I was tired and beyond tired, but I needed a good place to sleep. I followed the stream uphill, going further and further from the city. I was so tired my steps fumbled and my vision was clouded, but I endured. In the end, I found a place where the banks were high enough to offer some safety. I thought on making a makeshift shelter, but then remembered what I did to enter the phylacteries' room. I put out my bedroll on the soft dirt and lay down on it, and closed my eyes. I willed the earth to part and swallow me.

It did. I went down perhaps a four feet, until I met stone. I made a cocoon there, curling up. I left two small holes for the air. I smiled. I was safe and quiet.

I slept. I slept for a long while, without dreaming.

 

Kirkwall hit me like a hammer. It was like Darktown. You could get used to the stench and not notice it anymore, but once you left for some time you had to become acquainted all over again. I sat at the gate, waiting for the nausea to abate. My head pounded, the screams of the Twins in the distance did nothing to help. I groaned and closed my eyes. It took me several hours of nausea and migraine to abate.

The first thing I did as soon as I could move once more was going to Xenon and part the money with him. The Black Emporium felt more like home than the hovel ever did. As soon as I enter by the secret door I smiled, walking over the suspended wooden bridge. Nera, the black cat, ran to me meowing her welcome. I knelled and petted her. She had become a sleek, black she-cat, strong and swift, with short fur and sharp claws. She purred when I scratched her under the chin. Her mind was pleased and sleepy. I smiled. The places smelled of dusty tomes and lyrium and endless spices. I grinned at Urchin who was playing with some marbles on the ground, trying to avoid Nera's interrupting the game. Xenon straightened himself on the central seat, an arm flapping down boneless, his green, too living eyes in his ashen faces turning on me.

" **Ah, you are back. I wondered. I lost a couple of people… to Arlo**."

Xenon, it bears mentioning, did not believe in coddling his associates.

I snorted. "Not I. Here is the payment."

" **Good. I'll give you… your five hundreds sovereigns**."

 He was pleased, I could tell. I grinned at the money. All that we needed, and more. Enough to make a bribery to the Viscount for the Amell's house for Mother, definitively. I took the small sacks and put them in my backpack. It was pleasantly heavy. Then I casted the spells of Awente that helped him. He groaned appreciatively.

" **There are some tomes you may find… interesting. Regarding that twist on the school of Awente. They are on your desk. It may bear… fruits**. **And I have that leather caps you ordered for the Deep Roads**."

"Thank you." I put the volumes I had purloined from the Knight-Commander on the desk and looked longingly toward the tome. Alas, I had no time now. I shook my head, regretfully. Once I would have finished this blasted Deep Road business I would have more time to experiment and study. I took the cap and grinned. It was made to fit all around my head, covering it completely. It had small slits for the eyes and ears, and a complicate grate over the mouth. It would protect me from the darkspwan's blood. I had one for myself and one for Carver.

I turned to leave, before slapping my forehead in a great show of forgetfulness.

"Oooh I forgot. I have found you a Tranquil."

If Xenon's several legs would have been strong enough to stand, he would have jumped up. As it was, he straightened himself so fast that quite a few of his less coordinated appendages bumped into each other and against the glowing lanterns, scattering them everywhere. I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I had surprised Xenon, and that was one of them.

" **How… is _that_ possible?!** "

I grinned. "I have my way. Her name is Dora. She will arrive shortly."

" **Thaddeuses! Urchin! Prepare a room… for my new assistant!"**

I left him ordering the golems and Urchin around. I chuckled.

Good ol'Xenon.

 


End file.
